


The Personal Journal of Sherlock Holmes

by Lovegingernuts



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Crime, Crimes & Criminals, Diary/Journal, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Love, Other, POV Sherlock Holmes, thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-25
Updated: 2017-02-25
Packaged: 2018-09-26 20:49:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9921599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lovegingernuts/pseuds/Lovegingernuts
Summary: Sherlock Holmes keeps a diary where he writes his thoughts about cases and other things.





	

**Author's Note:**

> OBS! English isn't my first language since I'm Swedish and therefore there can be some grammatic fails and misspelling. If such bothers you, do yourself the favour and don't read.  
> Also, this is my interpretation of what Sherlock MIGHT think upon different matters. He's hard to understand and to get into his head is almost impossible. So if you don't share my interpretation and it bothers you, then don't read either.

_January 16th_

* * *

_I'm going to start "writing down my thoughts and feelings" in this journal. It was Molly who, with no piloteness at all, told me that I look depressed and sad and that writing down things in a "diary" would make me feel better, because I could then "reflect upon my life and get to know myself on a higher level." Sometimes New Age ideas get too far. But I decided to give it a try, mostly because Molly is actually a quite smart girl, deep down. If she thinks that I seem sad and so on I probably am in some way I'm unable to understand. She can read people like a book. I wish I could do that. I can deduce almost anything about a person only by looking at them, but that's just physically. I can't really "get into someone's brain or look into their soul," to make it sound deep. Because keeping a diary is deep, right? I don't know since I don't really care._

_January 29th_

* * *

_I haven't written anything since nothing special has happened. Oh, just realised being kicked out of the house is kind of a big deal after all. I have been staying with my parents for a few days. I was thrown out of my apartment on Montague Street. Apparently the landlord doesn't like body parts of corpses in his fridge or when you're unable to pay the rent in time. My parents were nagging at me to find another place, so I decided to do so. It's so nice to feel welcome. I contacted Mrs. Hudson about her cosy flat on Baker Street and she seemed happy to let it out to me. But it's pretty expensive which means I have to share. I asked Mike this morning if he knew someone, and then went to Barts to continue with a few experiments I've been working on lately. Molly brought me coffee, she's so sweet sometimes. It didn't taste good though, but it's the thought that counts. By afternoon already Mike came into the lab with a short, blonde man and introduced him as John Watson. He was a military man, obviously. He was so surprised when I deduced the fact. I also deduced some other clear things about him, so eventually I felt I knew him pretty well but he claimed that "we didn't know anything about each other and would look for a flat," which he apparently found weird. To satisfy him I told him about my violin playing and my periods of absolute silence which are of highly importance to my work. He didn't think that was enough for some reason. I like John though. Except his respectably handsome style he's quite charming jumping around with his psychosomatic limp in belief of been shot during his time in Afghanistan. Tomorrow we're going to look at the flat. I hope he'll like it. He seems to be one of very few who can handle my personality and way of living. He's a military man for God's sake and has probably endured much worse. Probably._

 

_February 1st_

* * *

  _I didn't write yesterday, I was too tired because John and I ran around in London chasing a cab among other things the night from the 30th to the 31st. We both stayed in the flat and took regular power naps. Especially John. On that night (between the 30th and the 31st) I was about to lose my life because I'm just too bloody curious. But John saved me. I'm forever thankful to him and don't know how to show it. He's a simple man so maybe I'll manage in some way. He's one brave little soldier. He shot a man just to save me. I'm not sure I would be able to do that. Yet I only hear "Sherlock is so cold," "Sherlock doesn't care." I don't know what makes them think that, and when they do it makes it worse since I have to live up to the expectations. Oh, whatever._

_When we came to look at the flat John got so pissed when Mrs. Hudson believed we were a couple, and therefore could share one bedroom. I didn't contradict because it was quite a sight to see John that annoyed. I don't know why Mrs. Hudson keeps thinking that I "need a relationship." I don't. I don't want to depend on someone else, and I wouldn't want to lose them. I just don't like losing people. Everything has an end, and the best way to avoid getting your heart broken is to not throw yourself into a relationship or be reliant on someone._

_Lestrade came rushing in (as he so often does) and asked me to help them with those so called suicides which were in fact murders. Obviously I already knew that at that point but I've learned to not share my knowledge too early because people get pissed and then won't believe me. I had nothing to do and in fact waited for something to turn up, so I took the case. I asked John to come with me since I had to work with someone else than Anderson and besides, John is a very clever man. In his own way. Very much like Molly is a clever woman, in her way. Furthermore, I liked John from the start and thought it would be nice to have him around. I rarely think so about a person. John Warson is indeed something special. We went to the crime scene where we found a woman (Jennifer Wilson) dressed in all pink dead on the floor. She had carved in "Rache" with her nails on the wooden floor. My first thought was that she had written "revenge" in German, but then I found "Rachel" a lot more likely. She was from Cardiff and had been cheating muliple times. But the last one had no real importance to the case, it was a bonus. The splash of mud on the back of her legs told us that she had pulled a quite small suitcase after her, which meant she would stay in London during a week. The case wasn't there, and apparently I was the only one to realise there should have been a case. A pink one, obviously. I mean, she had colour coordinated her dress with the shoes and nails. Of course the suitcase would fit the pattern. I went out to look for it, and I didn't realise I left John behind until I came home with the case. I didn't mean to. I was just so happy to finally have something to do and I'm not used to have someone with me I have to wait for. John was away for quite a while so I texted him to get to the flat. I needed his phone so I could send a text to the victim's phone which was in the hands of our killer. I couldn't use mine because the number could be recognised. John's face when he understood he texted a murderer was priceless! We told the name of the street where we possibly could meet. Oh, rhyme..._

_John told me he was away for so long because he met my "arch enemy," also known as Mycroft. He is beginning to scare me for real, he offered John money to keep an eye on me. What kind of big brother does that?! John and I went to Northumberland Street and had some dinner at Angelo's while waiting for the killer. Angelo also believed John was my date and again John's reaction. It's kind of sweet actually. Again I didn't say against. It was fun to tease John and I had to focus on the case and keep an eye on the street. I even skipped dinner. Eventually I saw a taxi stop mysteriously and the passenger turned his head to look around. I rushed out and left John, again, but this time he followed. I knew he would. We ran after the taxi through the backstreets of London and when we eventually caught up with it it turned out the passenger was a tourist from America. There was a police nearby and John and I ran all the way home. I'll never forget the look on John's face when he realised I had proven his limp was indeed psychosomatic. I have never felt so happy about proving a point. I'm happy I was able to help John. That's the thing with him. I just want to help him, as if I could do anything to prevent bad things to happen to him. I don't know if I can though. He has chosen to become my colleague and friend and my life isn't safe. I'll drag him into things, and he is crazy enough to deal with it. I like crazy. Crazy is good. Normal people are boring. John is far from boring._

_Apparently Lestrade and and his gang from Scotland Yard had a little party in our flat on Baker Street. They claimed they were looking for drugs but I knew they were looking for the suitcase. Maybe they used the opportunity to look for drugs as well. Too bad for them I had already decided to quit. I go for nicotine patches now as some sort of substitute. It's far from the real thing but it's okay I guess. Better than nothing._

_John defended me. He couldn't believe I would be the kind of person to do drugs. His beliefs_ _didn't feel right so I told him to shut his mouth. He didn't and still don't know enough about me to be sure what kind of person I am. For God's sake, I've known him for two days and I'm talking about him as if we've known each other for years! But the thing is, it does feel like I've known him for years. I haven't felt like this before._

_Obviously John and the little squad from Scotland Yard had no idea how we would be able to locate Jennifer Wilson's phone and then the murdurer. Sometimes people are so stupid. Even John is a little stupid, and yet he's the wisest man I've met. It was so easy! We had the e-mail address of the victim, and "Rachel" which she had carved into the floor was the password for this online service where you can trace your phone. "Rachel" was apparently the name of her still-born daughter. I told everyone what I thought: "It was fourteen years ago, why would she still be upset?" I shouldn't have said that. It was clearly not good. It was only the look John gave me thought that made me feel bad. The thing with me is that I often speak my mind out loud and most of the time it's not what others think and then I am a bastard. Story of my life._

_Anyway, the online service showed us that the phone was here, on Baker Street in our flat. Then everything fell into place. It was the taxi driver who drove the tourist that was the killer, and he was here waiting for me. Mrs. Hudson had told me there was a taxi waiting for me even though I hadn't ordered one. I went out and met the murderer. It was an elderly man, and he was a total genius. He used my curiosity against me to make me get into his cab. Then he drove me to a school for further education. Inside he offered me two pills, one good and one that would certainly leave me dead. I had to choose and the one I didn't choose he would take. He had used many layers of reverse psychology though, so I almost had to guess. I had made a guess but I didn't want to do what he wanted, obviously. When I didn't he pointed a fake gun at me. Stupid. I was about to leave when my curiosity yet another time betrayed me. He started to talk about how I would never know which pill was which, and he said that I maybe had chosen wrong. It is my weakness I admit. I'm too curious for my own safety. I went back and took my pill, I studied it closely but I couldn't see if it was harmful or not. The only way to find out was to take it. So I brought it slowly to my mouth, but then I almost had an heart-attack when I heard a shot and saw how the taxi driver fell down. Later I realised it was John._

_The cab driver said that he was killing people in this way because he was poor and had a sponsor. For every life he'd take, he'd get money to his kids. He was dying and didn't have much time left and he wanted his kids to inherit more than what he could offer. Apparently this sponsor is a fan of me. Moriarty. I have absolutely no idea who or what that is. A name, a society, something else? I don't know and I don't like not knowing. But all my concerns about Moriarty and reasons why this had happened disappeared when I got to talk to John. He made me laugh and there are not many people who can make me so happy that I show it by laughing. My friend John Watson really is special._

 


End file.
